


Sickly

by SmeagolMyNeagol



Category: The Walking Dead, Walking Dead
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexic, Comfort, ED - Freeform, Eating Disorder, Food Kink, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Starvation, dead dove do not eat, tw:eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmeagolMyNeagol/pseuds/SmeagolMyNeagol
Summary: Rick would do anything to keep his people alive--his family--alive. So when the food starts running out, Rick can't help but be a fucking martyr for the sake of his people.Negan knew something was up the minute he saw him: thin, gaunt, sickly.





	1. Sickly

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, Smeag here. Just wanted to write this little something. Not sure where it's gonna go. It'll probs be 2-3 chapters, 4 at most. Enjoy.

Pale. Gaunt. Disheveled. _Sickly_. Rick looked down right awful. His usual clear blue eyes were clouded over, pale overcasting the cerulean, red veins hyper-pigmented and stark against the whites of his corneas. His skin, although it was usually pale, looked even more so, and it had a translucent quality to it, making the shadows and lines stand out. His posture was telling the most; where he usually stood and walked and _did everything_ with a certain air of command and… elegance, almost, he now fumbled around with an curve to his back, his very being screaming _exhaustion_.

It was disconcerting, to say the least. Negan had nearly jumped when he’d noticed him, standing in the light of the sun, sweat running off his face in rivulets, whether from the heat or from the labor of standing, Negan wasn’t sure.

“Well shit, Rick.” Negan had stood for what seemed like several minutes, watching him, taking in the sight of a sick Rick. Though he looked awful, something in Negan ached at the thought of… scooping him up in his arms and putting him to bed. Of banishing whatever pathogen had dared to take hold of Rick. Of making him whole again. Something in his gut, or his heart, something somewhere had ached bad at the prospect of… _caring_ for Rick Grimes.

It was weird. Though not surprising. Negan had felt an immediate attraction to Rick as soon as he laid eyes on the man several months ago. When he had set out to beat into submission the group who had slaughtered his men at the one of his outposts, he couldn’t help but conjure up a mental portrait of the leader of said group.

He imagined him to be big, ugly, ruthless, and maybe a little bit slimy. Most men in power these days couldn’t manage to be in those positions unless they were just a little slimy, sometimes a lot. The exception being himself, of course.

Make no mistake, Negan had no delusions regarding what he was; he was an asshole, but an honest one, and being an asshole wasn’t the worst thing someone could be these days anyway.

But most people who had control of a larger amount of people fit his aforementioned mental summary. When he met Rick, though, he couldn’t have been more surprised.

The guy was a real looker. Eyes like the sky, bright and honest, a head of curls too long to not be hazardous, kinda short in stature, if Negan was honest, and skinny as all hell. Definitely the polar opposite of big and ugly. But the opposite of ruthless, he was not, as Negan came to understand.

And as he got to know the man, through hours of forcing his companionship onto him, he discovered that Rick was anything but slimy. He was self-sacrificing, a _martyr_ , even. People like that usually annoyed Negan; they just acted all self-righteous but didn’t have the balls to do what needed to be done. Rick though, he surely had the balls for anything that needed to be done, as Negan soon learned.

He had heard stories about him, whispered secrets between pissy Alexandrians who had little loyalty for the man who had given up so much just so they might live a life as comfortable as they were gonna get in this world. Angry jabs at his leadership, favor expressed towards his predecessor, some woman named Deanna or something. Ill-timed clandestine conversations in ally-ways are how Negan obtained the information he revisits so often now, imagining the way in which the conflict must have gone down, picturing it over and over in his head, romanticizing the personification of Rick he had made up for him based on that information.

Rick's bloody teeth, shocked faces of his opponents, his eyes glinting predatorily as he watched the leader fall to the ground, choking, blood spurting from a hole in his throat.

Ruthless. Unrelenting. Sexy as fuck. _Rick_. He’d… thought about that scene a lot. It often led to… well, let’s just say he couldn’t think of it in public as it led to some inappropriate reactions.

So yes. That initial attraction was there, but as time went on Negan found himself entrapped in everything Rick related. It wasn’t surprising then, that he felt twinges of feelings bubble up to the surface after he had spent countless hours just trying to keep them repressed.

Because really, Rick was a fucking saint, and he was the fucking devil. They both killed, but Negan enjoyed it, whereas Rick was just doing what needed to be done. Negan was black hearted, and Rick was not. Even if he regretted killing Rick’s boys in the dirt in the middle of a clearing in the middle of a forest _in the middle of the night_ , he’d still taken pleasure in it, in seeing Rick shake and break and die a little inside because _Negan killed his family._

Repression of his feelings was the only way to save himself some fucking dignity, and… save himself from the pain of inevitable rejection too. God, he was such a pussy.

“You should fucking sit down, Rick. Lay down, actually, for a few days and don’t get up for anything until you look a little less… like a walker. Jesus.” He’d come for pickup personally, as he sometimes did with Alexandria, (though he hadn't for several weeks just because he was so busy at the Sanctuary), and had been searching the crowd, unused to doing so as Rick often stood in front of everyone like a skinny, little, fucking _beautiful_ shield against Negan and his entourage. Ridiculous, but so unconsciously self-sacrificing it always made Negan’s breath feel hotter, like fire in his lungs. Upon spotting his curly head making it’s way through the crowd, Negan walked up to meet him, anticipating seeing him as he left the cover of the gathered people.

He was shocked at how bad he looked. The bow of his legs seemed to hinder his walking now, whereas all the other times Negan had seen him it gave him a swaying gait, a strange mix of intimidation and elegance. With the way he hobbled forward now though, hurried and wheezing, his legs seemed to have double the curve to them, as if gravity was pulling him down by the second.

He looked skinnier too--Negan noticed as his eyes raked over his form-- if that was even possible, the guy was already stick-like when he met him the first time. Now however, his clothes hung off his frame like a young man wearing the suit of his father. It made him look young and innocent and so very vulnerable.

"Negan. The pantry's a little... Lacking right now..." Rick's voice was raspy, and his eyes were unfocused. He must not be in the right state of mind now either, because as he walked away from the crowd towards Negan, he got a little too close into the taller man's space, seemingly without realizing it.

"B-but we can get more soon." His voice was trembling, but it seemed to be more of the result of whatever ailment was plaguing him than any sense of obsequiousness towards Negan. Rick was always calmly defiant, even when he was forced to comply he'd plainly express his disdain for the events occurring. It's one of the many things Negan had come to absolutely love about him: his quiet resistance. It was refreshing.

"I wasn't joking about the laying down part, Rick," he was so close, all Negan had to do was whisper into the space between them, hushed tones and hot breath brushing over Rick's clammy face, who in turn realized that he was too close and backed a few steps away, much to Negan's chagrin.

"Let's just get this over with." The venom in his voice would have cut anyone, but Negan was used to it and didn't flinch, not even a little. He especially didn't feel a twinge of guilt at Rick's words, not at all, really. It wasn't like the vitriol in his voice combined with that sick face and pitiful stumble towards to pantry was affecting Negan, not at fucking all.

"Stay here. I gotta take care of something." Negan said to Arat, not bothering to turn around and look at her and instead following Rick to the center of town, where the little house with the big garage was located.

Rick was faster than he looked, but the way he stumbled forward had Negan feeling indignantly angry. Why can't this fucking guy just learn to take care of himself? Learn to take orders? Oh god, now he was thinking about Rick following orders in a very... Different environment. Shit. Fucking focus. Gotta get him rested and recovered from whatever the fuck had Rick in its grip. Just gotta convince him to do what's best for himself first.

"Slow down, sugar, you trying to lose me or something?" Negan sprinted to catch up with him, and by the time he had Rick was punching in the code to the pantry door and entering.

"Really, Rick, you should let me help you. You really don't look well at all." Negan's voice trailed off as he followed Rick into the building. He was met with Rick standing by a big whiteboard on the wall, writing something with marker, which, upon closer inspection, was a date. Today's date.

"I have to keep track of everything nowadays." He provided weakly at Negan's questioning stare.

"Everything that leaves this building is marked here. Rations for my people, and offerings for yours. Arat knows. She said it wasn't an issue." His voice lilted up, giving his statement a questioning tone, and a bit of a nervous one too, as if Negan would have objections about such a simple thing.

"Sure, Rick." Negan was quick to assure him he didn't. "What are all these colored dots?" He gestured to the upper right side, were several magnets stuck to a hand-drawn line graph.

"Rations. If someone takes something, they move their household dot up. If they want to move it back down, they can volunteer more. For runs, and such." Rick paused to look at him, his eyes a sick representation of his current state of health and mind.

"Sounds a lot like my points system at the Sanctuary." He observed. It was a little like it, but with Rick's considerably smaller population it was probably a lot easier. Or not, Negan contemplated. With most of Alexandria being unable to go on runs to provide for themselves and with farming only providing so much, Negan was willing to bet that this was a desperate attempt at getting the number of volunteers for runs up, a last ditch effort at survival. The thought that Negan had driven these people to such a state, driven Rick to such a state, it should have made him feel elated, but instead, looking at Rick, a man reduced to so little, Negan just felt sick instead.

Rick glared at him, though it didn't have the same effect when coupled with his illness, "We're nothing like you." He spat, brows furrowed and twitching.

Negan laughed humorlessly, walking over to the shelved that stored the majority of the towns food supply. He rummaged a bit, but his mind was mostly focused on the man behind him, who he heard standing silently save for his wheezing breaths, until something caught his eye on the uppermost shelf in front of him.

"Oh fuck, where did you find this?" He pulled down a grimy box with yellow lettering, staring at the bright brand name on the front of it before peering in, dazed that he was seeing such a thing from the past.

"Aw hell, I love me some twinkles. There's only one left though." He swiveled around to face Rick, who was staring at him with trepidation. "Do you want half?" He smirked playfully, fully intending on making Rick ask nicely for the treat like a good little boy, but his mirth quickly died down when he saw the color drain from Rick's face.

"Hey easy there, cowboy. Just sit down. I'm not gonna make you run for it. Jesus." He put his hand on the small of Rick's back, and he couldn't help but notice that it was hard, not muscle hard but... Bone hard. He could feel the notched of his spine and the bones of his hips. An inquisitive expression overtook his face in that moment as he led Rick towards the wall for him to sit, though the only other person there couldn't see it due to the fact that he was struggling to sit down against the wall without falling flat on his bony ass.

He filed this fact to look back on later. He just wanted to get at this artifact from the past. It was probably expired but... Does this shit actually go bad? Probably not. Well, hopefully not.

He stroked Rick's hair out of his eyes, and broke the pastry in two, handing one to Rick who took it reluctantly. The first bite was heaven.

"Hmm." Negan couldn't help but sigh at the creamy taste, his eyes falling shut as he enjoyed it, which took all of five seconds being that it was only half of a small pastry.

He looked over to the man beside him, fully expecting him to be in a similar state of awe, only to be confronted with Rick sitting there, as expected, but the Twinkie still held flat in his palm, untouched and seemingly completely ignored, judging by Rick's obvious gaze elsewhere.

"What the fuck Rick. You don't want it? You sure look like you could use it. Could do with a fucking thousand of em and still be too skinny." Negan tried to keep the venom out of his voice, but it was hard not to be pissed. Did Rick hate him so much that he'd refuse a goddamn Twinkie just because Negan offered it? What a fucking brat. Absolute brat. He could see where Carl got it from.

"You can't just play along for one sec-"

"I have kids. Responsibilities." His eyes were flitting nervously about the room, afraid it seemed of staying in one place for too long. "Everyone here is looking up to me to take care of them. I need to.... I-I need... I've already eaten my share today."

"And how much is your share, Rick? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, it's not enough at fucking all." Negan emphasized his statement with a once-over, eyes scorching Rick's skin as they trailed across his frail arms and too-skinny legs, laughing boisterously at Rick's expense.

"You're probably too much of a martyr to take what you need anyway, and I bet what you do take you give to that hulking son and baby girl of yours. They sure look well fed." He was hit with another round of laughter at the mental image of it, the ridiculousness of it.

Alexandria's proud leader, sacrificing himself for his kids and his people. Oh god it was too damn funny, and his continued laughter punctuated that point.

Until-- He realized with a start--That actually made sense. His laughter died down quicker than it had come as he assembled the pieces in his head.

Now that he thought about it, Rick had been steadily declining in weight and Heath with every visit, and the drastic changes he noticed must have been that same decline working over the weeks he hadn't come to Alexandria for pickups.

He turned towards Rick then, and seeing his jaw clench and unclench nervously, he grabbed him by the shoulders roughly, shoulders that were, he noted with a nauseous feeling overcoming him, disgustingly thin, feeling as if they'd shatter completely should he apply too much pressure. Anger, annoyance, frustration, and hurt welled up inside him, that last one bringing confusion at his own emotional response into the mix as well.

"Rick..." He said, his voice low and serious as he level the hunched man next to him with a look of socked concern, "Are you _starving yourself?!_ "


	2. Starving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene in the garage progresses. Negan realizes his mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm determined to finish this. Please enjoy.

Rick must have realized that lying was futile. He must have known how he appeared, how shrunken and sullen his very presence was. There was no denying that Negan’s question was purely rhetorical, and that the answer was obviously  _yes._

“I—I, no, n—no, w-what else can I—I do? W-what else can I do?”  Rick was shaking in his arms, his eyes wide and wild, a certain tint of panic in them that Negan couldn’t help but reflect after discovering Rick’s little secret.

“What else can you do?! What the fuck do you mean, Rick?” Negan realized with a start that he was shaking the thin man, the fear in his crystalline blue eyes not a product of the realization that what he was doing to himself was so wrong, but rather the result of Negan’s sudden outburst and forceful physical contact. He stopped shaking the man, but kept his hands firmly grasping the skinny shoulders, holding the man up and against the wall of the garage, their exchange hidden by the closed door and presumably empty house.

“You come to me! I’m not here to fucking starve you,” except, wasn’t he? At least that’s what Rick probably believed. Negan had been taking and taking, and he said he would provide protection, he fucking said it that night in the clearing as a part of their… agreement. But to Rick, it must have seemed like he didn’t give a shit about him.

Negan froze with the realization. He knew Rick hated his guts, but he never considered that the other man would truly believe Negan to be so cruel as to force Rick to biologically self-atrophy just to keep his fucking kids breathing. That wasn’t what Negan wanted; that wasn’t at all what Negan wanted.

But fuck if he didn’t see how Rick couldn’t’ve come up with that after the way Negan had treated him. Surely the man couldn’t come to Negan for help, not after he’d killed his family, forced the rest into what was essentially slavery, and taken food right off the plates of his children. He’d only meant to take half, and leave what was necessary to keep them alive. He figured that eventually they would have found a way to provide for Negan and still have a healthy excess, and that Negan was just forcing them to use their full potential.

Rick was still shaking, but after the stunned silence Negan had instigated, the fear in his eyes had ebbed. He was shaking now, Negan thought sickeningly, because he lacked the strength to even stand. In Rick’s eyes, Negan didn’t care that he was starving himself. Perhaps Rick had seen the way Negan was unchanging to his physical decline and attributed to malice what should have been attributed to ignorance. Negan swallowed shallowly, guilt twisting in his gut. He had forgotten about Alexandria in the time he had not visited. He didn’t attend to their suffering, and he let Rick take drastic measures to fix it.

“I don’t want you to starve, Rick.” His voice was calmer now, weakened by the realization that Rick’s illness was Negan’s fault. His hands moved soothingly across the small man’s shoulder blades.

Rick let out a shuddering breath, his head bowed, either due to his weakened state or something else, Negan didn’t know.

“That’s not what I want. I don’t want you to suffer, not anymore.” He whispered, his face so close to Rick’s bowed head. This was the truth; at first, suffering was necessary, but only in the beginning. Negan was trying to create something bigger than just the Sanctuary. He wanted to establish a community, not bleed out his resources until they died.

Rick didn’t say anything, seemingly taking it all in as his shuddering breaths continued. Negan had never had him so pliant, so close. He pressed his hands to Rick’s shoulder blades, pushing his chest into Negan’s. At the contact, Rick’s shuddering increased, the emotional wall he had built crumbling.

It didn’t give Negan any joy to hear him sob.

“I wouldn’t have let you starve. I would have eased up, helped out. _I don’t want you to fucking die, Rick_.” He tried to pour sincerity into the words, show that Negan truly cared, even though he knew the man had no reason to believe he did. Negan can feel the slighter man lean against him, his head resting upon Negan’s shoulder, and he felt his head spin with shame at how little weight the man had to him.

“Let’s get you steady, here.” He guided the man upstairs, to the main floor. No one was around; he assumed the fat chick must’ve been outside with the others. He helped Rick ascend the second set of stairs, and entered the first door in the hallway. There was no bed, just a makeshift cot of blankets, and shit, Negan assumed they would have recovered from that little punishment too by now. He had assumed a lot, and it was clear Rick was one of the only ones pulling his fucking weight around here to keep these ungrateful Alexandrians alive.

“Here, lay down.” Gently, gently, he set the frail man down on the poor excuse of a bed, his mind running a mile a minute trying to determine the best route of recourse.

He paced the length of the room, ignoring Rick’s wary eyes following his form. To get food here fastest, he should just send for someone, rather than go back himself and collect an assortment then make his way all the distance back here.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here,” Negan gave the man a pointed look before exiting the bedroom.

He closed the door behind him, and pulled out his walkie. Someone back at the Sanctuary would just have to stop what they were doing and get some damn food over here, fast. After alleviating the severity of this situation, Negan would have to knock a few of these Alexandrian’s heads together so they would start recognizing their debt to Rick and actually fucking pitch in, so this shit wouldn’t happen again. And, he reminded himself, he would have to change his ways too.

 

 

Upon reentering the room after making his call, Negan was both pleased and disconcerted to find Rick sleeping in the cot on his belly, a skinny fist clenched near his face. He was glad he was sleeping, but anguished to know that he had facilitated Rick becoming so weak.

Sitting close, Negan couldn’t help but examine the sleeping figure. He looked awful because of the detriments of his eating habits, or lack thereof, but under the sunken eyes and distended jawline, Negan found he was able to admire the smoothed lines and relaxed brow that Rick often kept downturned and displeased when awake. Negan wanted to imagine waking up to this… As cheesy a thought as it was. He slipped closer to the sleeping figure, lifting his head gently to rest it in Negan’s own lap, his hand stroking the curls with a kind of reverence.

Time seemed to move quickly as he watched Rick sleep. Once or twice the thought of the pickup going on outside had Negan thinking he should attend to that, but he didn’t want to leave Rick, and he knew Arat would take care of it. She wouldn’t let the trucks leave with the pickup until Negan said so, and he was determined to ensure they didn’t take anything for a while, but for now he couldn’t leave Rick.

It was only a few hours before the other vehicle arrived, the sound of its engine just outside the gate letting Negan know someone had been sent from the Sanctuary with his request.

Still, Negan decided he couldn’t leave his charge.

“Bring it towards the center of town, and into the garage, the storage house. You know the one?” the Savior on the other side of the walkie responded curtly,

“Yes, sir. I’m there.”

“I’ll be down.” He had to get something in Rick. Ahem, some _food_ in Rick, as soon as possible.

He settled on bread and peanut butter. Meager for sure, but Negan figured Rick would need something easy on the stomach after being empty for so long.

He left the savior to finish stocking the shelves, ascending the stairs and reentering the bedroom.

“Rick,” he stroked the man’s forehead, saying his name softly. At his gentle prodding, Rick awoke, eyes unfocused. He rolled over blearily, barely aware of what was transpiring around him.

“Sit up, here.” He lifted the man’s upper body, shimmying behind him and resting his torso against Negan’s chest. He held up the buttered bread to Rick’s lips.

“Eat.” But Rick didn’t. He turned his head away, his unfocused eyes halfway closed.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’ve got to eat,” Negan tried to keep the panic out of his voice. If Rick wouldn’t even accept his food, how was he to heal?

“C-Carl!” Rick rasped. Negan thought he was calling out for his son, or perhaps he was delusional and thought Negan was Carl.

“Judith…” Rick trailed off weakly, his head still turned away from the food in Negan’s hand. Negan realized then, that Rick wouldn’t eat, or perhaps _couldn’t_ eat, without the knowledge that his children would were fed first. It made Negan’s heart clench. Always such a goddamn martyr.

From what Negan had seen, Carl was relatively well-fed. He knew the boy wouldn’t be so without ensuring his sister was also. It was a miracle that Rick was able to get so rail-thin with such a head-strong and inherently self-sacrificing son around.

Negan knew Rick was smart, and sneaky too, but hiding his current state of decline couldn’t’ve gone on for much longer.

“I can’t! Not without…” Rick was thrashing weakly in Negan’s arms.

“They have some—I brought plenty!” Negan shook the man a bit, trying to get him to snap out of it and cooperate.

“Rick, Rick! Just—stop, I’ll take care of them! Just please!” Rick eventually stopped, slumped delicately against Negan, lending the larger man the perfect opportunity to reattempt his mission.

“Please, eat, sweetheart. They’ll get some too. Just please.” He coaxed, offering the bread again to Rick, who took it in small bites.

His eyes shut with each bite, his mind overcome with ecstasy at the taste of something he had denied himself for so long.

Negan watched, mesmerized, as the man in his arms slowly consumed the little portion from his hand, entrapped by the helplessness of the object of his clandestine affection.

“Hnn… I can’t eat anymore.” Rick whispered, not even half the slice gone.

“You have to, c’mon, baby, just a little more. It will help you.” Negan knew eating too much after being empty for so long was bad, but he was desperate to get Rick to eat just a little more. If Rick noticed the endearment, he didn’t react to it.

“C’mon, c’mon…” He cajoled gently, Rick acquiescing after a minute, taking a few more bites before refusing once again.

“I can’t eat anymore. I feel sick.” Rick rasped.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, you did good, baby.” Negan abandoned the rest of the bread on the nightstand, using both hands to sooth Rick’s curls against his head.

Again, Rick didn’t seem to notice the endearment, his eyes shutting in sleep after the drowsiness at having finally been fed overtook him.

Negan stayed with him, stroking his hair as rick drifted off, determined to nurse this man back to health and never let him reach this point again.

Static came through over his walkie, and he picked it up to hear Arat.

“Sir, I assumed the pickup was canceled. I have replaced the items.”

“Thank you, Arat. You can pack up. I’ll be here a while longer. Just leave the keys for the good truck on one of the shelves in the garage.”

“Will do, sir.”

Yes, Negan was determined to nurse Rick back to health. No matter how long it took to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's for reading. I hope you enjoyed. I will try to update as soon as I can :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked. Don't worry, I'm working on Ownership as we speak. It's taking a long time because I've had trouble with it. I'll try to update that asap and this one too.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment telling me if you enjoyed or not, I always read comments and I try to respond to them too :)


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